


Ticket for Two

by Atzenarii



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Communication is hard, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Lynx's POV, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 06:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12451571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atzenarii/pseuds/Atzenarii
Summary: Linguistics have never been Lynx’s forte. Why would they need such a skill, when coding was much more useful to them? When faced with a decision, however, some form of understanding in that area would probably help them a lot.After all, they had an opportunity to present.





	Ticket for Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RegalMisfortune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalMisfortune/gifts).
  * Inspired by [St. Petersburg](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365418) by [RegalMisfortune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalMisfortune/pseuds/RegalMisfortune). 



> This is my take on Lynx's point of view throughout the duration of RegalMisfortune's amazing fic "St. Petersburg" from the Hacking Gravity series. As such, the text message conversation have been directly taken from I just hope I have been able to give their characterisations justice. 
> 
> Initially, this was supposed to take an entirely different turn, but I think I'm pretty happy with the outcome.

_What have I got myself into?_  Lynx thought, fiddling with the PDF projected in the air, sliding it from side to side with nerves. They had yet to print out the ticket to see Lúcio in concert. That would make it a definite thing as opposed to a possibility, an option. More than once, Lynx had tried to shove the PDF back, bring up other, more important windows. Multiple terminals, live video feeds, various IDEs with handwritten codes of varying languages in varying states of completion, Siberian weather conditions, classified medical documents… All things much more pressing than a stupid, poorly-designed PDF opened from their email.

The omnic’s sensors flicked in irritation.

 _"Mama and Papa already bought Orisa and I tickets!” Efi had grinned, nudging them in their side as she pulled up the document on her handheld. “The Foundation gave me this one as a gift, but since I don’t need it, I think you should take it! It’ll let you bring a friend, too.” She finished her sentence with a wink. Sometimes, Lynx really wondered how much of a_ child _the roboticist was. Begrudgingly, Lynx sent the document to their own computer anyway. If anything, it would get the pair off their back about their supposed ‘attraction’ to the Russian soldier. And more importantly, give them time to hack into a certain account to send a forged letter. If the hacker could avoid another one of Orisa’s legality lectures, they would._

With a crackle of a growl, Lynx returned to the present and pulled up one of their half-finished scripts, projecting a keyboard just underneath their fingertips. For an hour or so, they allowed their mind to sink into the task. Sure, they could just type it remotely from their own internal system, but this took more time. Their client still had not provided the last portion of their agreed upon price anyway. Lynx was simply in no hurry, certainly not trying to fill time.

At some point, the omnic had to pause and review their work. Something seemed off. Lynx stared at the projection, reading over the last few lines they had written. Had they really just named the newest variable _‘Nova?_ ’ Lynx groaned, saving the document as it was and filing it away. Maybe the child was right. Pulling the ticket back up and flicking it to their handheld, Lynx moved to their couch and dropped down onto it. They made quick work of breaking into Zaryanova’s own device (really, was it so difficult to put proper security measures in place?), thoughts trying to piece together what to say. The omnic was a hacker and free-lance coder, not a linguist. Subtlety of word was not necessarily one of their talents, preferring blunt statements and a liberal amount of sarcasm. Simply put, they had no idea _what_ to ask, let alone _how._

Once more, however, the omnic paused in their actions. As the live feed of Zaryanova’s handheld came up, so too did the most hideous patten Lynx had ever witnessed. At one point in time, it was probably a regal ivory white, smattered with lively pink flowers. But oh, how that had long passed. Now, it was a concerning _beige_ , with flowers looking more akin to questionable stains rather than anything discernable. Even worse, it appeared to be a couch. A large one, at that. Was the thing a joke? Surely, the Russian woman, with her stylish, clean cut pink hair and matching nail polish, had better taste than _that._ Lynx bristled, suddenly thankful for the modern black leather couch in their small apartment, and pulled the soft blue throw over their body, just to have some positive sensation to block out the negative optical ones.

_I honestly forgot what I was going to say to you after taking one look at that couch._

Not entirely truthful, but it did buy the omnic some time, as well as some nerves. At the very least, the ice had been broken. Mere seconds later, a picture popped up in the message feed. “Absolutely _not,_ ” Lynx hissed, recognising the photo as a close-up view of the abhorrent supposedly floral pattern.

_Please do not save that._

Lynx’s sensors flattened against their head as the Russian seemed intent on offending them personally by doing just that. Without hesitation, Lynx deleted it permanently, but only after making a note to begin research on a machine capable of deleting _physical_ objects as well.

_If you take one more photograph of that hideous couch I will never speak to you again._

Expecting a snarky response in turn, their sensors perked up in surprise when instead an entirely different photo appeared in the gallery. It was not of the best quality, appearing to have been a photo of a physical copy, but that hardly mattered to Lynx. In it stood a young girl, grinning at the camera and striking a pose with her hands on her hips. There was a thin layer of glittering snow beneath the girl’s boots, completely in contrast to the pink sun dress she wore. Did she not feel the cold? She did not appear affected. There wasn’t even a hat on her head to cover the long golden hair tucked behind her ears. Why would the soldier send _this_ of all things?

_Who is that?_

_What? You don’t recognise me from 20 years ago?_

The response they got was instant, though it took the omnic a moment to process. That little girl standing on the steps was _Zaryanova?_ It was hard to believe, even after the knowledge had been handed to Lynx. The Russian was so stony in personality, always schooling her features and making sure she was presentable and at attention at any moment. The soldier Lynx had met all those weeks ago was strong. All muscle, towering over the omnic. Lynx had never considered themself to be particularly small by any means, with standard sized frame. At least, not until they stood toe to toe with the giant of a woman. How did that thin and likely average height girl turn into the champion weightlifter? It was nearly inconceivable.

_It never occurred to me that you too were a child once._

With the message sent, Lynx sat their handheld down on the small coffee table to give them space to think. How stupid of them. Of course Zaryanova had been a child at one point. All beings were programmed in some fashion, in Lynx’s opinion, but that did not mean the process was _instantaneous_ in all beings. While omnics were built to be their full size, humans began small and had to slowly grow over time. Even still, it was a strange thought, at least in the case of their friend.

“A child Zaryanova,” Lynx mused, getting to their feet and shuffling to the tiny kitchenette of their apartment. Lost in thought, they went through the motions of getting down a small mug and filling it with water. Some months ago, Orisa had gifted the hacker some plants. They had been Efi’s idea, apparent only by the cute stickers stuck to the otherwise-plain terracotta pots (cat stickers, to be precise, matching Efi’s claim of “they're just like you, Lynx!”). As the omnic poured the water in, they snickered. Children were so imaginative, and had seemingly endless time to explore it. Orisa herself was a good example of that.

Lynx wondered if Zaryanova had had that much time as well, in years long gone by. If their memory served correctly, the soldier could not have been older than ten when the crisis came about. Their sensors fell. Zaryanova must not have had much of a childhood, they figured. From war, to training, to yet another war, all carrying a growing public image… How much fun and free time had she had in her younger years?

Lynx turned their head to the coffee table, setting the mug down after watering all their many small plants. The handheld previously left alone sat there innocently still, a blue notification light blinking in short intervals. Zaryanova had replied, it seemed. Lynx drifted over to it and scooped it up on the way to their workstation.

They ran on autopilot as they went through the motions of printing the tickets out onto physical paper. Their thoughts ran wild. Would Zaryanova even consider the stupid, pointless offer? Did Lynx themself even want her to accept the offer? How would they even go about asking? Before they knew it, the small paper was in their left hand, with an open chat window on the handheld in their right. Faster than they could second guess their decision, they sent (and immediately deleted) message after message. Luckily —or maybe unluckily?— no indication of Zaryanova typing appeared. Lynx’s sensors twitched wildly and they failed to suppress a crackle of irritation at nothing in particular. Breaking into Zaryanova’s settings, they switched the sound on on her device, just as they decided on what to say.

Lynx never was quite a linguist, afterall. Blunt and clear was best, in their opinion. They snapped a quick photo of the ticket in their hand, attaching it and settling with a simple message.

_It comes with a free plus one, but only if you want to._

The spark that they generated probably would be a slight cause for concern later, but at the moment Lynx couldn’t bring themself to care all that much. The diodes on their forehead flickered wildly in time with their fidgeting sensors. Had they really just done that? Asked a woman who despised their kind, who routinely destroyed their kind, out to a concert, in a city that was vastly more accepting than her entire country? Oh hell, what had they got themself into? Lynx jerked at the small _ping_ of their handheld, then procrastinated checking it. Surely Zaryanova had more sense than to accept an invitation—

Oh.

_When is the next flight to Numbani?_

“Oh,” they muttered, intelligently, already pulling up itinerary on their main workstation for the woman.

On their handheld, nearly going unnoticed even to them, a new chat window popped up. Linking directly to Efi Oladele herself, Lynx hit send without hesitation.

_You really are too observant than you have any right to be._

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything of substance besides academic papers in ... god, probably a few years now. So, hopefully, this was enjoyable regardless. Thank you so much for taking the time to read!! 
> 
> If you want to scream about Zarynx with me, hit me up on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/atzenarii) :U


End file.
